


Fear and Fire

by Tak138



Series: Nightbringer [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Disfigurement, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil, F/M, Femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Male Friendship, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Matriarchy, Permanent Injury, Sadism, Scarring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138
Summary: Thanks again to Patrick for beta-ingCommission for Im-Chris
Series: Nightbringer [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639807
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Fear and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Patrick for beta-ing  
> Commission for Im-Chris

"He looks like a lost lamb." 

"Hush," Einri admonished, giving Neida a sharp nudge to the ribs, "He's got good reason." 

They were both sitting on the bed, watching through the open bathing room door as Niven diligently scrubbed at himself in the tub. Neida wasn't wrong, though. The poor boy was milk white, and even from afar they could see the terrified whites of his eyes. Usually they would assist with the bathing as well, but Niven had pleaded for even the semblance of privacy. 

Einri let out a little breath, clenching his hands against his own trembling. "It's going to be a rough day for him." 

The amusement fading from his face, Neida dipped his head, "Do you think he can last?" 

Biting his lip, Einri looked at the tray of cosmetics on the nearby table. "Maybe," he said softly, "Mistress seems optimistic, at least." 

His Second nodded, his amber eyes narrowing. "Mine isn't."

Einri forced himself to breathe, leaning against the bedpost and running his fingers over the smooth wood. "How is the Lady-Lieutenant?" He asked, hoping for a change of subject. Neida gave him a knowing look, but didn't press. They had served their mistresses side by side for long enough. They knew better than to dwell on the terrible things to come.

"She is well. Extremely busy, but I think she enjoys it," he said softly, rubbing idly at his shoulder. Einri tried not to follow his hand with his eyes, tried not to imagine the burn scars hidden beneath his shirt. It was difficult, even more so not to think of his own. Soon, if they were lucky, Niven would have similar scars. 

It wasn't a real or proper ceremony, but it was something the elite women seemed to enjoy. It had started with Einri all those years ago, and then Neida had followed shortly thereafter, once the Lady-Lieutenant had heard about it. A final test, to prove their strength and devotion. 

It had become a pageant, of sorts, in recent years. Men made to look their best, paraded around for the delight of their mistresses. The better a slave looked and behaved, the better it reflected on their Mistress. And as First and Second of the slaves, the only ones with any semblance of true authority due to the women they served, it was their duty to prepare the fresh ones as necessary. It was an honor, one Einri treasured, and so did Neida. 

That didn't make it any less dangerous.

And it didn't make things any less difficult for Niven. As the prize pet of the Queen-Commander, he had many more expectations than the average slave in his shoes. A man belonging to someone lesser, perhaps one of the several ministers on Mistress' council, would have been allowed to weep and whine. Might have even been allowed to drag his heels a bit, and beg for mercy. His cosmetics may have been smudged, streaked, and his hair unkempt. Men were men, even if they were slaves. Fear was normal, expected. 

Their mistress was not lesser. She was everything, the queen of these lands, the Nightbringer, with every citizen of the Northern Isles under her banner. Niven would represent her strength, her control and ability as an owner, as a queen. 

There was no room for failure. For any of them.

Soon Niven emerged from the bathing room, arms wrapped around himself, water still dripping from his hair. "I'm done," he said in a small voice, "What's next?"

Einri beckoned him close, and urged Niven to kneel on a cushion set before them. "Just relax as best you can," he urged, as he took the tray and knelt just the same. "The pain will come later. Enjoy what you can now."

He didn't miss the way Niven's lip wobbled, how his hands curled into fists on his thighs. But he nodded, firm and resolute, and grit his teeth. 

_Good boy,_ Einri thought, even if he didn't say it aloud. _You are stronger than anyone has ever given you credit for. You can handle this._

"You'll be perfectly fine," Neida assured, as he wrapped Niven's hair with a towel. "It's not as bad as you're expecting." 

Niven gave him a bitter look of disbelief. "It's _fire._ How can it not be bad?"

Einri gently grabbed his chin, urging his face back to center, and began to apply a soft shade of red pigment to his lips with a thin brush. "It's going to be bad," he agreed quietly, "But the mind has a way of blocking out pain. It's likely you won't remember the ceremony at all."

"I don't remember mine," Neida put in. He grabbed a comb from the tray, and began to work through Niven's small mass of hair. "There's a likely chance that you won't remember most of the next few days, either."

Einri held his tongue, as he always did, and kept from mentioning that he remembered his 'ceremony' in horrific clarity. 

Instead, he gave Niven a gentle smile, saying, "It's not worth fretting over. Forget your fear, and allow us to take care of you for a moment." 

Niven frowned, but obediently allowed them to manipulate his body to and fro, as they set about making him presentable. Neida focused on his hair, sweeping the meager length back with a pair of wooden clips, while Einri brushed a fine cream colored powder over his cheeks. 

"You two seem very… experienced," Niven said at last, voice little more than a rasp. 

The two of them shared a look, Einri slowly saying, "We're… the most senior of the slaves. As First and Second, we're often tasked with guiding the newer boys."

"The Queen-Commander trusts us the most, to take care of you," Neida added, equally as careful. Presuming anything was dangerous and improper, evening this presumption was somewhat safe. "So we've done this… a few times now."

At that, Einri couldn't help but snort. He'd lost count of how many men they'd prepared together. Dozens, at least. It had definitely become more formal. In the beginning, they simply threw the man in a basin of water and scrubbed him pink. No time for comfort or encouragement, cosmetics or fancy hair. Just rinse, dry, and then fire.

Niven closed his eyes at his request, letting Einri smear a bit of black kohl across his lids to bring out the bright blue of his irises, and then coated his lashes. "So that's where you go? When you disappear for a few hours, I mean," Niven murmured.

"Usually, yes," Einri said with a soft sigh, "It's a gift to be so trusted, and we're honored to do our duty."

With his eyes still shut, Niven quietly asked, "Do they all survive?" 

Neida froze, but Einri just forced himself to respond, "Almost all of them," he said firmly, "Especially recently. Don't worry yourself with that."

Neida's eyes went wide, but Einri shot him a sharp look, daring him to contradict. Eventually, Neida just averted his eyes in deference. 

It wasn't a lie, at least not fully.

When Niven at last opened his eyes, Einri held up a small handheld mirror. "You look very nice," he said tentatively. 

Niven touched his cheek, brushed a finger over his lips. "I look… different." 

"I do believe that's the point," Neida said, chuckling softly. But Niven just kept staring at himself, throat bobbing.

"No I… I look different. From before." 

Einri stilled, his heart stuttering. It wasn't forbidden to talk about the Before, but it might as well have been. To bring it up now, before everything was that to come… It felt like a bad omen. 

"It's been a good while since then," Neida said quietly, "You're young enough that it matters."

Niven bit his lip, eyes liquid as he turned them to the ground. "How long _has_ it been?" 

Einri frowned. "You don't know?" 

"I tried not to think about it at first, and then I just stopped paying attention," Niven whispered. 

There was a moment of quiet. Long, heavy, and aching. Not for the first time, Einri was overwhelmed with a sense of… he didn't know. Something icy, and sad. It was close enough to questioning that he would need to correct himself sometime later today, so he just tried to ignore it.

"It's been a little over a year," he said at length, "A year and three months, about."

"... It feels like forever," Niven replied.

Not for the first time, Einri was reminded that Niven did not love their Mistress the way he did. He did not take the same pleasure and delight in serving her. He was defeated, and resigned, but he did not enjoy this. The moments of affection Mistress bestowed were not rewards or something to strive for, but simply moments of relief without punishment. It would come in time, he knew. He even remembered feeling the exact same way. But it was still… saddening. While their mistress could be difficult, she could also be lovely and merciful as well. He wished Niven could see that. 

Serving the Queen-Commander, being the one she trusted at her back, the one she trusted at her throat, was an honor and a joy Einri doubted he would ever be willing to give up. He loved her with everything he had, and in turn he had come to love his life with her as well. 

One day, Niven would too. At least, Einri hoped so.

"I think we're as ready as we can be," he sighed, as he set the tray of cosmetics aside. "Neida, please alert the Queen-Commander that we will be leaving shortly." 

Neida rose to his feet without a word, but before he could go, Einri couldn't stop himself from holding out his hand. Neida only looked at him, his eyes shining, and clasped his hand between both of his own.

Eyes slipping shut, Einri let himself drink in the comfort of his oldest friend, of his Second. They had been side by side for so very long, working in tandem since the very start of this uprising. He didn't know if he would have been able to continue on as he did if not for his friend.

Neida dipped his head, pressing his free hand to his chest. "Have strength, both of you. I will see you at the end," he said. 

Then it was just the two of them, alone in the cavernous bedroom. Einri could hear the words building, could see the inner workings of Niven's mind as he gathered himself. Einri gave him time. This was perhaps the one moment of their lives when their Mistress would grant them leeway. It wasn't important how quickly they arrived, or how many hours it took to get the to-be-burned prepared. All that mattered was arriving in the first place. He knew Mistress would want Niven prepared instead of rushed.

Einri could see his reflection in the cold gray tile he knelt on. He too looked very different, though it had been many more years since his burning. He hardly remembered what he looked like before. Hardly remembered anything from before. 

He heard Niven open his mouth, then close it. He opened his mouth once more, and in the language native to the isles, Niven whispered, _"I am afraid."_

Immediately, Einri felt his stomach drop, looking frantically towards the door in case someone had overheard. That was _expressly_ forbidden. In the beginning, Mistress had punished him for every word he'd spoken in any language that wasn't Marden, even if by accident. He still knew it, though. Perhaps better than his Marden. 

Niven had been lucky. He'd learned many languages under his tutors, and had been able to avoid that specific section of his training. 

"I know," Einri said, in the language he was allowed to speak, gently taking Niven's hands in his. "I know, Dove. But it will pass, and you will heal."

Niven swallowed hard, pressing his hands to his face. "I'm so afraid," he squeaked, "She killed my entire family, she butchered everyone I've ever known, and now she may kill me. I'm so, so afraid."

Einri let out a long breath, his throat tightening. Again, he said, "I know. I know, Niven. But it's a good thing. It means she wants you." 

"May I… may I know what will happen?" 

"Niven…"

"Please," came his small, frightened voice, "Please, I want to know. No one has told me anything this entire time. I just want to know what's coming."

Einri hesitated for a second, the memories of all the ceremonies that come before settling like lead in his stomach. His night, all those years ago, still hung over him like an endless shroud. The sound of flint meeting steel was sometimes all it took to send him back to that place, a tent at the furthest edge of camp, on the cliffs, high above the sea. He could still hear the waves, could still smell the sea. And if he curled his wrists, he could almost feel the leather restraints digging in. 

Quietly, he began, "You will be bound to the table." 

Niven's eyes were so wide, enraptured. A lamb staring down the blade of the butcher. In his face, he saw the faces of all the boys that had come before. Dozens and dozens and dozens. 

"You will be bound to the table," Einri said again, quiet as those far away waves, "by your wrists and your ankles. The head doctor is going to have her apprentices on standby. One will be carrying a bucket of fine powder, the other will be waiting to assist if something goes wrong. The doctor will spread an oil across your entire body, it will smell like mint and feel like liquid ice."

He had to pause, mouth going dry, eyes honed on nothing. So many boys, so many men. How many of them had failed? 

_Too many._

Soft as a bird, Niven touched his arm. "Einri?"

He blinked, and shook out his head. "Sorry, I'm sorry. After the oil, most mistresses would say a prayer, but I don't think ours will do that."

"What will she do?"

"... she will place a strip of leather in between your teeth. She may take your hand, or she may have me do it, it's her choice."

"And then?" Niven whispered.

"And then the doctor will strike a spark, and the oil will erupt into flames. You will be alight for no more than five seconds before the apprentice will douse the flames with her powder, snuffing out the fire."

"Five seconds?" came Niven's croak, "That's… that's a long time."

"It's not as deadly as it sounds," Einri replied. There was an odd edge to his voice, one he didn't really understand. "It isn't. You will be left with moderate burns but no more. You will be fine."

"... Did you lie to me, earlier? When you said most survive."

Einri lifted his chin, a second of wild panic spearing through him. "Not… entirely."

The look Niven gave him then was enough to strike him dead. Just utter defeat. "Please," was all he said. 

He swallowed, "About two thirds survive the entire procedure. Those that... pass, either fall to infection or the shock, as I said. But… the odds are in your favor." He added, desperate to offer what small amount of courage that he could.

It didn't work. 

Something in Niven's expression cracked, and then broke entirely. Some dam finally gave way, and Niven just covered his face with his hands. For a moment, Einri didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do, not when this boy, this poor, meek thing was about to come face to face with his gods. There were no words that could ever make it okay. But then that poor boy began to weep, quietly, desperately, and Einri had to do something. 

"Oh, Niven," Einri whispered, and pulled him into his arms. Niven latched onto him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding so impossibly tight. 

Einri cooed, pressing another kiss to his cheek. "You're okay," he assured, "You're going to be just fine, I promise."

"I don't want to die," he whimpered, "I don't want to die."

"You won't," Einri assured, "You absolutely won't. I swear."

"Please, Einri, please…"

_Seven hells._

His own eyes burning, Einri squeezed Niven as tightly as he could. "You won't," he said again, "I give you my word, Niven. Mistress will see you through it, and so will I. You will live, I swear, I _swear._ "

Niven swallowed a desperate breath of air, nodding as though he might throw his head away. "Okay," he whispered, "I believe you."

Einri loosened his grip, but Niven did not yet withdraw. Good. He needed every single crumb of comfort he could get. Einri just held him, held him as closely as possible. 

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry this has to happen to you._

_Stop that_ , warned his internal voice. _Don't think about it. You know better than to question her._

"I miss my mother," Niven whispered, after a long, long second. 

An old ache stirred in his chest, and Einri had to clear his throat. "I know, I know you do. But this is a good thing," he said weakly. It was the only thing he could possibly come up with. "This is _good._ You're going to get to sleep for a good long while, and Mistress is going to treat you so gently. You're going to see just how much she wants you, I promise." 

Niven nodded, though it was stilted and uncertain. After a long second, he whispered, "This is… this is a good thing."

"It is," he agreed softly.

"It means… it means that she wants me."

Einri nodded, "It does."

"And… she'll be there? She'll see me through it." 

" _Yes_ ," he said, as emphatically as possible, "Yes, she absolutely will. She will take such great care of you, and she will make sure you heal properly."

"... Okay," he whispered, "Okay. Okay, _okay._ "

"Are you ready?" He asked gently. 

Niven licked his lips, and wiped at his face. "Yes. Yes, I-I'm ready."

Einri nodded. Together they rose, and he draped Niven in a white linen robe. Maybe it was the fact that it hung off of him in sheets, or maybe he was just that tiny, but he was far, far too thin. As they left the bed chambers, Einri tried not to think of what was to come. He tried not to think of what had already happened, either, but that was much more difficult. Niven hadn't been wrong, he looked infinitely different from how he had all those months ago. His hair was longer, his cheeks more hollow and gaunt. He might have been an inch or two taller, too, even though he still only came up to Einri's shoulder.

He was so, so young. Neida hadn't been wrong either, when he'd called Niven a lost lamb. He might as well have still been a babe, still well under his mother's wing. 

Mistress was so cruel to him, and though Einri accepted every single one of her commands without question, he could never understand them. It wasn't his duty to understand, he didn't need to understand her wishes to properly serve her. And yet, he couldn't comprehend _why_ she did this to him, why she wanted to hurt Niven the way she did. 

_She will soften,_ he reminded himself. He listened to their footfalls, each step bringing them closer and closer.

_She will soften. She grew soft with me, she grew fond and tender. It will be the same for him._

_One day, he will understand. One day, Niven will love her just as I do._

_One day._

As they came to those great doors, black wood and painted with silver, Einri closed his eyes, and rested a hand on Niven's back. 

"Breathe," he whispered, ignoring the wide, lost look Niven turned on him. "Breathe, and you will last. Have strength. Mistress will carry you through."

Niven nodded. He set his jaw, rolling his shoulders and taking a slow, deep breath. 

"I'm ready," he said. 

Einri nodded, and pushed the door open.

  
  
  
  
  


She still didn't care for wine. It didn't matter the vintage, or the fruit, or the color. After years on nothing but mead and ale, the sweet tang of wine was far, far too much. 

Still, Svaia nursed her glass. Wine was cheap, and she was in the mood for cheap. She had been drinking on and off since Niven's burning, mostly in celebration, but also to quiet the dull hum of… something, in the back of her mind.

No light shown through the curtains, the sky beyond a murky gray. A storm must be coming. 

She heard the door open, heard the quiet shuffle of feet. She turned just enough to spy Rissa as she strode in, Neida trailing behind. 

"How is he?" asked her lieutenant, as she dropped onto Svaia's little sofa. 

"Fine," replied Svaia, taking a small drink of her wine "He was awake and alert earlier, but he's still far from healed."

They watched as Neida went to the bed, to the two forms resting upon it, the bed shrouded with heavy shadow, and gently nudged one of them. Einri jerked awake, blinking up at his Second, and then he smiled, saying something she couldn't hear. She glanced at the clock, and nodded to herself. It was time to change Niven's bandages. 

Rissa shifted, kicking her legs up on the small ottoman before them. 

"Wine?" She commented, "You must be desperate."

"The last shipment of proper ale got delayed. So I'm making due," Svaia mumbled, taking another drink. 

Rissa raised a brow. "Is it a good one, at least?" 

In reply, Svaia held out her glass. "You're welcome to try."

Rissa took it, her nose wrinkling. "It smells like rotten fruit and mildew." 

"I do believe that may be the point," Svaia chuckled, glancing back at their boys. The tonic the doctor had given Niven was doing well to keep him fast asleep as they peeled the bandages from his body. The flesh beneath was still an angry, aggravated pink, but it was already worlds better than it'd been initially, some three days ago. It was one of the least incidental burnings she'd ever attended, with every piece falling into line. Niven took his fire with more courage than she ever thought he could muster, in no small part due to Einri and Neida, she knew. She was proud of them.

"That's vile," Rissa rasped, passing back her glass and wiping her mouth, "I've tasted gutter water better than that. How can you drink that?”

Svaia shrugged, taking another sip "Booze is booze."

They lapsed into a brief silence, as Rissa flagged over her boy and commanded him to hunt down some proper drink. Svaia only rolled her eyes, and poured herself more wine. 

"A pampered priss until the bitter end, I see," she muttered. 

Rissa shot her a dirty look. "Go to hell." 

Svaia hid her grin by taking another drink. Fuck, she'd missed this. Just her, her friend, and her boy. Things were so damn complicated now, and though Svaia would never, ever give up her position, she did miss it sometimes. Just the evenings spent together. Truthfully, she didn't know what she would do without her lieutenant, and these quiet moments. If not for Rissa and Einri, she wasn't quite sure how things would have ended. Out there, she was the Queen-Commander, Nightbringer. And it was _fun_ , gods it was so much fucking fun. The drinks, the men, the sheer joy of being among her sisters. But with Rissa, with Einri, she was just Svaia. Even Neida, she felt some fondness for. When it was just them, it was easier, simpler. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to corner some poor fool and make him hers for the evening, but she wasn't a youngling anymore. Sometimes she just wanted simple and easy. 

All of this grandeur was so unfamiliar, even months later. She enjoyed it, truly she did. The silken sheets, the gems and jewels and gilded, clawfoot bathtubs. But in reality, this had never been her intention. This palace, the country under her hand. It had never been something she'd expected to happen. 

The Isles had been at war with her motherland for as long as she remembered, had wreaked havoc on her life and the lives of all she had known. And when she'd arrived, freshly discharged from the military, freshly exiled from her country, she'd only wanted to pillage and destroy. She'd only wanted to raze the Isles as they had Marde. Make them and their queen pay for everything they had stolen from her. Revolution had never been her plan. 

And then suddenly a year had gone by, and she was the leader of the most feared mercenary gang this side of the dark sea. Now, a year later, Svaia knew it had been worth it. Every moment of pain, exhaustion, shame and fear. It was worth it.

Fuck, it seemed like a century ago. It might as well have been. She had been so young, so angry and desperate for a place of her own. She had it now, but it wasn't the palace, it wasn't any of this luxury. Her place was among her sisters, among those that had seen her wrath and did not balk. Among those that had seen her bite, her fire, and met it in kind. 

Her place was among Rissa, and Einri, and Neida. And Niven now too, she supposed, now that he had taken his burning. Assuming he survived the rest of the healing process, which was likely. He too was now a part of this. No more just a pretty pawn, no more just a broken figurehead. Now, he was well and truly hers. 

"I wasn't sure if he would make it," Rissa said softly. Neida had returned, presenting his mistress with a glass bottle of her own. 

"Neither was I," Svaia admitted, "But it appears he's stronger than anyone has ever given him credit for, myself included. Lucky thing, I suppose. I would hate to lose him."

Her lieutenant gave her a look that was pure taunt as she poured herself a drink. "Is that a touch of fondness I sense, Svaia? Could you, perhaps, care for the boy?"

Svaia huffed. To Neida, she said, "I would suggest you urge your mistress to keep her mouth shut. She's hedging for a brawl." 

Neida's expression went ashen at the suggestion, his eyes going wide. Torn between obeying his queen and his loyalty to his mistress. "Leave him alone, you hag," Rissa hissed, though she was only just managing to hide her smirk. "Torture your own boy."

Svaia couldn't help herself. "Oh, is that _fondness_ I sense, Rissa?" 

Her lieutenant gave her a crude gesture that made her cackle, knocking back the rest of her putrid wine and discarding the glass to the soft rug beneath her toes.

"Einri," she called, snapping her fingers when he had finished Niven's care. "Come here." 

Without hesitation, Einri rounded the bed and knelt at her feet, bowing his head. Fuck, he was so perfect. Yes, he wavered and wobbled from time to time, but all men did. Even in Marde, where the boys were raised knowing their duty was to serve, they always faltered somewhere. What mattered was how they came from it, how they recovered, and Einri always recovered. Her lovely, dutiful pet. 

Yes, she was definitely fond of him.

Svaia combed her fingers through his hair, a soft smile curling on her lips. "I take it he's well on the mend?" 

"Yes, Mistress," said Einri, voice low and quiet. "He had a slight fever last night, but it broke by morning. The doctor says he should be back in working order in a couple of weeks." 

She nodded, took another drink. This, she knew, was something she could not rush. No matter what she wanted, if she forced Niven back into her service after his body had suffered such a trauma, he would likely regress and require much more care. And besides, this wasn't the time to press. Now was the time he would be most vulnerable, most reliant on her as his mistress for guidance and compassion. Now was the time to solidify his bond to her.

It wasn't going to be easy. There was just something about Niven, be it his frightened eyes or his meek little voice, that made her want to toy with him. Made her want to wring his delicate little neck. 

He was so much easier to terrify. Einri knew her too well, knew what she would actually deign to punish. Niven did not, not yet. All it took was one well placed look and he would throw himself at her feet and beg as though his life depended on it. 

"Up, Pet," she whispered, tugging just a bit at Einri's hair. He rose without question and climbed into her lap, and though his expression was carefully masked, she could see the wariness in his gaze. For now, though, Svaia just stroked his thigh, and allowed him to rest against her. 

Over Einri's shoulder, Rissa was grinning at her.

"Say it, I dare you," Svaia sniped. 

Rissa's smile only grew. "You know, you claim that I am the pampered priss, but I don't think I've seen you pick up a blade since we've settled in."

Those were fighting words if Svaia had ever heard them. Brows high, her lips twisted into a smirk. "What exactly are you implying, dear Rissa?"

"Oh nothing at all, Commander," cooed Rissa, "I merely worry for your waning prowess in battle." 

Snorting, Svaia ran a hand through Einri's hair. "Is this your way of telling me that you miss training with me?" 

"Who can say," Rissa replied, challenge gleaning in her eyes, "All I'm saying is that, should you wish to have a go at one another tomorrow morning, I would be fully willing." 

Standing at attention just to her left, Svaia could see Neida watching with no small amount of concern in his eyes. He feared for his Mistress, the precious thing. Neida was most often tasked with caring for the fresh slaves, which kept him away more often than not. It was rare for him to be privy to such… improper conversations between the two of them. He must have been expecting it to switch at any moment. 

It was quite cute, Svaia had to admit. She wondered if Rissa would be willing to let her borrow him sometime. Perhaps she could offer Einri as a temporary exchange.

"You sing a lovely song, lieutenant," Svaia chuckled, "So it shall be. As soon as the sun rises, I will meet you in the center courtyard. Then we can decide which one of us is the pampered priss."

Rissa laughed, the sound nothing but fire and wicked glee. Gods, they needed a proper fight. After decades of constant fighting, first in Marde and then in the Isles, this year of peace had been so, so _boring._ They needed to pick an island somewhere, gather a few women, and just set the world ablaze. Not to conquer or control, just to wreak havoc. The stink of blood in the air, the feel of her blade in her hand, her shield on her arm, her sisters at her back… she missed it. 

Out of the corner of her gaze, she spied Rissa staring at her, eyes gleaming like a predator's in the low light. Perhaps her lieutenant felt the same.

Svaia ghosted her fingers over Einri's back, feeling the delicate curve of his spine and ribs beneath her touch. He shifted, swallowing hard against her. She couldn't help but snort. Such a timid thing. She could take him rough and cruel and he would bear it without complaint, but the barest hint of anything softer and he went entirely frigid. 

They fell into another round of easy silence. Rissa kept sipping at her wine, resting her head against Neida's side, the four of them listening to the wind outside, to Niven's quiet breathing. The sun had fallen behind the horizon by the time her lieutenant rose, joints popping, and stretched her arms overhead. 

"Neida my dear, I think it's time we leave our beloved Queen-Commander in peace," she sighed, "Say goodnight."

Neida nodded, quick and sharp. "Yes, Mistress. Goodnight, Queen-Commander, goodnight, Einri." 

Rissa hummed, her bottle of wine under her arm, and took Neida by the hand. "I expect to see you tomorrow," she said over her shoulder, "Bright and early."

"As the sun rises," Svaia laughed in reply. "Get plenty of sleep, my friend. You're going to need it." 

She caught the glint of Rissa's teeth in the dark, a wicked smile, and then they were gone. Svaia watched the doors swing shut, the room just barely illuminated by the ample light outside. Then the dark returned, Svaia leaning her head back against the couch. 

"How is he?" She asked quietly. "Truly."

Einri was quiet for a moment, his head resting on her shoulder. "He did not express much beyond his own pain, Mistress, but he… he asked for you earlier, while you were away." 

Svaia pursed her lips. "Oh?"

"Yes," he said, an edge of caution to his tone. "He asked where you were, and if you were pleased with him."

"And what did you say?" 

Einri stiffened, swallowing hard, "I beg your forgiveness, Mistress. I told him that you were. I—I am sorry."

Svaia shushed him, gently working her fingers through his hair at his nape. Einri loosed a long breath, tilting his head back against her. 

"You're alright, Pet," she said with a soft smile. "I do not approve of you speaking for me, but I see no harm done this time."

"I corrected myself, after," he said softly, presenting her with his forearms, the soft skin of his under-wrists still pink and borderline welted. 

Svaia couldn't help but snort as she peered over his marks. "You certainly did not hold back."

His face turning a delicate pink, Einri ducked his head. "I felt I was going too soft for the offense, so I asked Neida for assistance."

She hummed, peering intently at the wide marks. Einri's eyes tracked her every move, but he said nothing. Truly, she wouldn't have ordered this had she known. A burning was a difficult time for all slaves of a household. They required more comfort, more leeway, especially the one that had actually taken fire. And yet, Einri had never really been one to accept leeway, not with himself

With Niven he pled for it, on his knees with his brow to the floor. With other men, he quietly whispered in her ear, urging her as much as he dared to spare just a second of kindness. 

For himself, though? Einri punished himself as harshly as he could, for every single offense, no matter how small or minute. His integrity was perhaps his greatest asset. That, and his pretty little face. And maybe his ass. 

"Tawse elsewhere until these are healed," she instructed quietly, "Your thighs, or your palms. I don't need more wounds to heal."

"Yes mistress," he whispered.

Unable to help herself, she ghosted her fingers over those raised marks. In her arms, Einri shivered. 

"Such a sweet thing," she chuckled, "My sweet, lovely pet. So good for me." 

"Always, Mistress," he swallowed. 

Svaia hummed, giving his thigh a pat. "I think it's best we retire as well. I need to be at my best if I'm to whip Rissa into shape." 

As Einri slid from her lap, she spied the barest hint of a smile on his face. "I have no doubt that you will best her, Mistress." 

She stood as well, and allowed Einri to pull off her clothing piece by piece. "You should join us," she mused, "You need the sunlight."

The air seemed to go still, Einri's hands freezing on the ties of her tunic. "Join you, Mistress?" He echoed, voice small. 

Svaia snorted. "Not as prey, Pet. Fret not." 

With a barely contained sigh of relief, Einri resumed undressing her. Pulling her tunic over her arms, loosening her pants and letting them fall. Each touch was gentle, lulling and reverent. Svaia found herself closing her eyes. Found herself relaxing, shoulder drooping, muscles loosening. He had a way of weakening her guard, when it was just the two of them. 

It made her vulnerable. Should Einri get it into his head to betray her, she would never see it coming. One of her very, very few weaknesses. Though in truth, Svaia didn't quite mind. Einri would never betray her, she knew that in her bones. There was something pleasant about it. Coming undone, in the privacy of her room. The only place she could relax in full. The only place she could just be. With Rissa, she was at ease. With Einri, she just _was._

It was one of the many things she would loathe to lose.

He undid her hair last, letting it fall from the tail she kept it in, and smoothed it down her back.

"I want you in bed in five minutes," she commanded, voice low and soft. Beyond the window, the sky had fallen black. Not a star or moon to be seen. 

"As my Mistress wishes," Einri replied, equally soft.

She climbed into bed and scooted over somewhat, offering Einri enough space that he wouldn't roll off every time he shifted, but still well enough away from Niven that there was no chance of her nudging him. It was easy, given the bed was the size of a small village. Her pet flitted out from the bathing room just a few breaths later, his tunic gone and his hair drawn back into a loose plait. At her beckoning, he slid under the covers and tucked himself up against her side. 

Svaia wrapped an arm around his waist, allowing her pet to bury his face in her throat. "You're no better than a pup," she murmured, and gave Einri's ass a little squeeze. 

He huffed a quiet laugh, his breath hot against her skin. "I beg your forgiveness, Mistress."

Rolling her eyes, Svaia cast a final look at Niven over her shoulder. She scanned him from head to toe, taking note of his breathing and the soft flutter of his lashes. It would do her well to make a better effort to linger, so she could actually comfort him when he fluttered between the waking world and sleep. 

Just training tomorrow, she decided. Just her morning appointment with Rissa, and then she would clear her day. He was hers now, well and true. She needed to at least pretend to dote on him. 

"Goodnight, Mistress," came Einri's quiet voice. 

Svaia shifted, running her fingertips possessively down his side. Einri held himself still as she toyed with him, feeling him up as though she had further plans, not making the barest sound. 

Luckily for him, she had no interest in advancing things that evening. Instead she just withdrew her hand, winding her fingers through his hair. "Sleep well, for you will be joining us tomorrow. Neida can look over Niven in the meantime." 

Einri nodded against her, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "I would be delighted, Mistress. Thank you."

Seven hells, he was precious. 

Svaia hummed softly, resting her head against his. She could just make out the barest whisper of breathing from behind, even and steady. And though she missed the road, missed the excitement of battle and the stink of fire, she had to admit that she had never been quite so content.

Her boy in her arms, dozing peacefully. And her other boy, having just taken his fire, showing a bravery she had never expected on his behalf, sleeping at her back. It was strange, how bizarrely proud of him she was. He'd come into that room, before her and her most trusted sisters, and hadn't shed a single tear. So different from the prince she had delighted in breaking. Soon Niven would heal, and she could make him properly hers. Even healed, he would be in an extremely vulnerable state. She would be able to build him up just as she wanted, and then he would look at her with the same endless trust and obedience as Einri. 

Svaia pressed a light kiss to Einri's brow, his bare chest against her own. He was so warm. When she finally allowed Niven to join them, _if_ she allowed him to join them, she was likely going to sweat herself to death. 

In all likelihood, Niven was months from being welcomed into her bed on more than a rare occasion. Einri had earned that right, and Niven would as well. 

It would be nice, when that day finally came. She might have been a wretched, sadistic bitch, but sometimes it was just as pleasant to watch her boy light up with glee. And it would be nice to see such a thing from Niven as well, on the rare occasion she was in such a mood.

Svaia shifted, and kicked out her leg wide, just barely enough to brush her toes along Niven's. Reminding herself that he was there, that he had not vanished into the endless night. 

_Yes_ , she thought, as she finally closed her eyes, _this was worth it.  
_

  
  
  
  



End file.
